Meteorite
by Golden Snowflake
Summary: A decade has passed and Vlad crash-lands back on Earth. The sole witness feels an inexplicable compulsion to help him. (Based on a dream I had several weeks ago.)
1. Chapter 1

As mentioned in the description, this is based on a super-vivid dream I had a few weeks ago. I broke this into several parts or "scenes," which was how I experienced it. I edited a bit to make the story flow more and to avoid including any of the personal information I remember mentioning.

Also, I am obsessed with Vlad.

Which you probably guessed already since you're reading this.

o_o

* * *

\- 1 -

I heard it more than saw it.

A piercing whistle cracking the air. A deep, guttural thud.

Looking both ways, I swallowed. There was nobody around. I crossed the street in a jog and made my way down the hill. The wind whipped the grass against my ankles as I crossed the stream dividing the properties, the heavy grayish sky lighting the ground an electric green.

The hole was nine feet wide, and he clutched his shoulder as he dragged himself onto the grass. His clothing was torn and singed. Long, white hair hung in glistening, frayed strands over his face. I knew him from the tabloids immediately.

"You."

I stared at him silently.

"What year is it?"

"It's 2015," I uttered. "July of 2015."

Breathing ragged, he steadied himself. "Where is this?"

"Ohio - America." The man nodded once, eyes darting around in thought. "Sir - Mr. Masters - my car is parked just down the street." Cobalt eyes returned to me with renewed interest. "Please - we need to get out of here as quickly as possible. I'll help you."

After watching me carefully for a long moment he nodded. Perhaps he thought me to be a one-time fangirl or hoping for money. It was obvious that he could easily overpower me regardless. I reached out hesitantly when he took a stiff step. "I'm fine," he rasped.

The steady howl of the wind rose as I turned to lead him back.


	2. Chapter 2

\- 2 -

The temperature dropped fifteen degrees in two hours.

I parallel parked beside the antique store, exhaling heavily and fighting to collect my racing thoughts. Vlad watched me silently, his arms wrapped around the paper bag of toiletries I'd shoveled into a shopping basket ten minutes before. When he commented on the receipt – of course I'd forgotten to hide it before offering him the bag for his inspection – I told him that I'd just broken $5000 in my savings account for the first time and that this was a better use for it than inevitably hoarding stationary and action figures.

"Okay." His expression was neutral when I looked at him once more. "This place has really nice clothes. Not as nice as I'm sure you wear, but it's the closest we have. Um, what size do you wear?"

The man's eyes narrowed. He stared at the dashboard for long seconds as tiny, reflective specks appeared on the windshield.

My anxiety climbed the silence, lifting my heartbeat into my throat. "Suits and formal jackets are measured by shoulder width, aren't they? I'm not…"

He tensed silently when I leaned across the console and rested my hands on his shoulders, thumbs splayed across his chest to try to approximate the distance. Freezing, I looked into his eyes.

"S-sorry." I pulled back, heart thundering in my ears. His icy gaze bored into me as I looked at my lap. My hands were suddenly shaking.

"No. It's … it's all right."

"I, um, I'll get you a few things. A formal jacket or two. And I'll grab something comfortable – anything you don't like is fine; I don't mind returning things. I just imagine you'd like to be in something other than that or, uh, your ghost – outfit." Shame burned through my at my own nervous ramblings, and Vlad's inscrutable stare sent a tremor through my stomach.

His eyes burned into my back even as I hurried under the awning and into the clothing store, shivering from the chill of the rain.


	3. Chapter 3

\- 3 -

The sound of the sink running stopped.

Hugging my legs to my chest, I rested my chin on my knees and looked up at the ceiling.

Vlad had been in my bathroom for the last thirty minutes.

He looked exactly the same as he had a decade before.

I wondered how he had found his way back, how long he'd been searching. I wondered how he remembered any English, let alone how to speak it. How was he _alive?_ What was it like to feel gravity hanging off of your limbs after nothing but emptiness? The scent of the shampoo for gray hair I'd bought him drifted at the edge of my senses and my stomach gave a little flip.

Despite the countless questions to which no answers existed, the sound of another's footsteps in the house amazed me far more.

The door creaked open and I jumped.

Steam wafted into the hall, unhindered by the feeble whir of the ancient fan. My eyes followed the graceful shadow as it cut through the spill of yellow light.

"Do you need to use the restroom?"

Electricity prickled up my spine and heated my face. "N-no," I croaked.

I was debating whether or not I should leave when his movements resumed with the sound of the cap being unscrewed from the mouthwash. The sound of weight creaking across the floor dulled my embarrassment and I pressed my mouth against my knees, letting my eyes drift closed as I focused on the sounds. The chill of the weather clung to me where the steam couldn't reach, the dreamy echo of the rain rattling down through the walls.

 _What's the statute of limitations for weaponizing an asteroid?_

 _Why isn't he_ hungry _?_

The sink blasted to life again, only running for a few moments.

My eyes felt heavy when I opened them to find the edges of his shadow growing sharper. I straightened up, tugging at the hem of my shirt.

Cobalt eyes stared down at me impassively.

"I'm – uh-" I rose clumsily to my feet, backing away and tugging on my sweater some more. The gray tee-shirt out of the pack I got him was tight, but the pajama pants were long enough. Thick, damp hair framed his face and darkened the collar of his shirt. "There's – lots of food in the pantry. Anything you want, I can make."

"That won't be necessary." His voice was still hoarse, and he cleared his throat behind a fist while I nodded hastily. "If … you'd be so kind, I'm quite tired."

"My room is this way." Eager to turn away from his piercing stare, I hurried down the hall and around the corner. "Everything is clean. I'll sleep on the couch tonight. Um, please, sir, if you need _anything_ -"

Vlad's palm rested on my shoulder.

"There's no need for such ado, my dear. I'm quite all right."

When I attempted to reply, no sound came out.

The man passed through the narrow doorway without brushing me, moving about the room. Humiliation burned through me at every decoration and possession he observed, and I watched the light slip through his glistening hair as anxiety and exhaustion mingled in the pit of my stomach. He stopped for a moment, attention seeming to linger on a stack of poetry books on my desk.

After a long while, he lowered himself onto the mattress and leaned back against the wall. He crossed one ankle over the other and folded his arms over his chest, his broad shoulders flexing under the tight material. I swallowed dryly.

"I'll be in the living room," I mumbled, grabbing a book from the shelves by the door and hurrying out. Whether the stare on the back of my head was real or imagined, I wasn't sure.

The chilly evening eased into night, the steady rain lulling me into a deep comfort as I read, curled up in my blanket. It was dark out when the throbbing in my joints and the hard pressure of my jeans cutting into the backs of my knees finally pierced through my reverie. I stumbled through the house, achy and fuzzy-headed, turning off lamps and clawing off my scratchy sweater. I rinsed off in a stupor, stomach grumbling its complaints at the toothpaste I'd swallowed.

It dawned on me slowly, not fully hitting me until I was plodding into my room in my pajamas.

 _Oh yeah_.

Vlad Masters was asleep in my room, his arms crossed over his chest and his head leaned against the wall.

I stood there for a good minute, caught between the obvious choice to sleep on the couch and the allure of my freshly-washed sheets and soft pillows.

At any other time, self-consciousness and common sense would have driven me back to the living room.

The pull of sleep was over me before my head hit the pillow.


End file.
